


A Treasured Guest

by 27dragons



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dancing, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Prisoner of War, Tony volunteers as tribute, Tributes, alternate universe: warlord
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 13:44:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20797577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons
Summary: Despite all of Tony’s genius, the warband known as the Avengers has conquered Tony’s hometown. When the town’s stores fall short of the tithe the Avengers demand, Tony volunteers to become part of the tribute, enslaving himself to the Avengers’ warlord to save the townspeople from starvation. He braces for the worst, but neither the Winter Soldier nor the Avengers are what he’s always been told they would be.





	1. The Winter Soldier's Tribute

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MassiveSpaceWren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MassiveSpaceWren/gifts).

It hadn’t been enough.

Tony’s hands shook as he threw the notes for his improved catapult on the forge fire. Gods forbid the Avengers get their murderous hands on those notes and use Tony’s device against his own people.

Exactly why Tony’s hands shook was up for question. Fear, certainly, as his designs had failed -- the Avengers had surrounded the town and were expected to march into the town square within the hour. Exhaustion was also a factor; he’d been working nearly around the clock, ever since breathless word had arrived that the Avengers’ war party was heading in their direction. He’d stopped only for a few brief hours each night, curling into a corner of the forge to nap and then rising with the sun again to bolt down half his meager ration of food for the day before going back to work. The rest, he distributed to the hollow-eyed children who’d been conscripted to run messages and pick up the slack of the everyday work while their parents were shoring up the defenses.

Hunger, that was another reason for the shaking hands. He’d more or less gotten used to the gnawing sensation in his belly, but he was glad all the delicate work had been done early, before Mayor Stern had told him to leave off his “ridiculous toys” and get to work making arrowheads and sling shot.

Tony couldn’t help but notice that Stern had been willing enough to use Tony’s catapults when the Avengers poured over the hills, though.

It _had_ made a difference. Even though this band had the Winter Soldier himself at their head, they’d held the Avengers off far longer than any other that Tony had ever heard of. 

Tony had made a difference.

But it hadn’t been enough. The town had still fallen. 

Tony finished burning his designs and made his way out to the town square to stand next to his mother. He was glad for a chance to see her again -- he’d caught glimpses of his father over the last couple of weeks, but he hadn’t gone home at all since word had arrived and Mayor Stern had sent him to the forges.

He squeezed his mother’s hand briefly, then stood tall and proud, every emotion locked up tight. He couldn’t show weakness, not now. Everyone was there. Everyone was watching.

When the Avengers finally came, Tony’s mother let out a sob of fear, and he had to put an arm around her waist to keep her from collapsing.

He couldn’t blame her.

The Winter Soldier was terrifying and savage-looking, bare-chested except for a snow-white pelt across his shoulders and a necklace of long, sharp teeth -- both of which, rumor said, came from a wolf he’d fought and killed bare-handed, the same creature that had left one arm a twisted mass of scars. Half a dozen blades were strapped to his body, his hair tied back in braids, and his eyes were pale and merciless as he strode down the street toward them, a long, bloodied knife in his hands and his lieutenants -- the most elite of the Avenger warriors -- at his heels.

The lieutenants were just as intimidating, battle-hardened men and women carrying their weapons ready, expressions hard and cold and unforgiving.

The Winter Soldier stopped a half-dozen paces away, close enough for Tony to see the fur of his pelt rippling in the wind, the way the pupils of his eyes shifted as he looked from face to face.

Tony tried not to quail under that frigid stare. Everyone pressed more tightly together in the center of the square, parents shuffling their children toward the center, away from the Avengers.

Everyone knew how this went. The traveling tinker who’d brought the first word had told them, and word had spread until not one person in Shieldtown hadn’t heard the tales. The Avengers would select a few people to die to demonstrate their cruelty, and then they would demand tribute -- food and trade goods and coin. That was why the mayor had decreed such tight rations, these last weeks -- so that there would be enough food, after the Avengers took their tribute, for everyone to survive the winter.

When the Winter Soldier spoke, his voice was softer and smoother than Tony had expected, though it carried easily from one side of the square to the other. “I’m impressed at your fortitude,” he told them. His words were lightly accented, but clear and precise. “And by your weapons. I’ve never seen a catapult with that kind of range, ever before. Someone here is very talented.”

A hand pressed between Tony’s shoulder blades and pushed, hard, making him stumble forward a few steps. The Winter Soldier looked over, eyebrows raised, and came closer. Tony backed toward the safety of the crowd, but the Winter’s Soldier’s eyes were already on him, cataloging his calloused, burn-scarred hands, the smears of ash that forever clung to his clothes and face. “Your machines?”

Another shove sent Tony staggering, nearly falling right into the Winter Soldier’s arms. “Take him,” a voice said. Tony whirled around, eyes wide and mouth falling open in horrified protest. “As restitution for the men you’ve lost to this man’s machines,” Mayor Stern continued. He wasn’t looking at Tony at all as he gave the Winter Soldier an oily, fawning, insincere smile.

“No!” Tony’s mother cried. She reached for him, but Tony’s father pulled her back. He didn’t meet Tony’s gaze, either.

Tony felt suddenly hollow, as if a cold wind had dipped into the hollow of his chest and scooped everything out. Slowly, he turned back to look at the Winter Soldier, who was studying him with an appraising eye.

“Do you have a name?” the Winter Soldier asked quietly, as if for Tony’s ears alone.

Tony swallowed. He was going to die. Stern had offered him up as the first of the Avengers’ sacrifices, and he was going to die, right here, in front of his mother and everyone else in the town. He lifted his chin. “Tony Stark.”

The Winter Soldier nodded, then reached out to catch Tony’s wrist in his own. His grip was like steel. “Come, Tony Stark.” He pulled, and Tony had no choice but to obey, following the Winter Soldier back across the space, to stand in front of the other Avengers.

_This is it_, Tony thought, steeling himself, but the Winter Soldier just said, “Wanda.”

A tiny woman broke out of the Avengers’ ranks. She was a head shorter than Tony, slender enough that he thought he might be able to span her waist with his hands, and she didn’t carry any weapons that Tony could see. Which only made her steel-spined posture that much more terrifying.

She stepped forward several paces, until she was well in front of the other Avengers, and scanned the gathered townspeople slowly. As one, they shrank back from her gaze. Her back was to Tony, so he couldn’t see what they saw, but he could swear he felt a crackle in the air, a sense of heaviness, like before a storm.

Was she the one who chose the sacrifices? Was she some sort of dark priest, offering blood to the foul gods of the Avengers to preserve their prowess and good fortunes?

She pointed, and one of the lieutenants strode forward, a dark-skinned man carrying a short-bladed knife and a long sword on his hip. He pushed through the outer ranks of the townsfolk to pull out -- Mayor Stern.

Well. If Tony had to die, he could hope to see Stern on the chopping block before him.

Stern was protesting, trying to pull free, but the Avenger’s grip was too tight, his expression stony as he dragged Stern out into the open space between the Avengers and the townsfolk.

The woman -- Wanda -- pointed again, and another Avenger strode forward. There was a sudden disturbance in the crowd, and from the far side of the square, a man broke away from the crowd, running. In a glimpse, as the people shifted and jostled, Tony recognized Jasper Sitwell.

“Hawkeye,” the Winter Soldier snapped, and almost before he’d finished the word, there was an arrow in the air. There was no way the archer had been able to see well enough to aim, but-- A short, sharp cry, and a soft gasp from the townsfolk said all that was needed.

Wanda turned, then, slowly looking over the buildings of the square, and her eyes were _glowing red_. Tony staggered back a couple of steps and bumped into a towering giant of a man.

“Startling, is it not?” the giant rumbled. “But you need have no fear, unless you are aligned with the Hydra.”

Those glowing eyes swept over him, _through_ him, and for an instant it was as if she was digging out his very soul, laying bare his darkest nightmares and his highest aspirations -- and then it was past and done. Tony sagged as if his muscles had all failed to work, and the giant steadied him with one enormous hand. He didn’t want to be grateful for the support, but he had to admit he needed it, for a moment.

The witch -- for what else could she be? -- pointed again. “The blue house with the green door,” she said. “In the basement.”

That house wasn’t even visible from the square. What kind of power did this woman have?

The giant squeezed Tony’s shoulder and then released him. “To work,” he said cheerfully, and strode off in the direction Wanda had indicated, unlimbering a massive warhammer.

Wanda finished her sweep and returned to the gathered Avengers, disappearing into their ranks.

The Winter Soldier stepped forward. “People of Shieldtown,” he said, and his voice was clear and carrying. Tony had no doubt that everyone heard him. “There are traitors among you. Servants of the Hydra Empire, here to pave the way for their conquest, to blind and hobble you so the snake can swallow you whole in its mad quest to encircle the world. We bring you freedom!”

As if on cue, the man holding Mayor Stern moved-- and the mayor fell to the ground, a pool of his own blood spreading under him. The giant stode back into the square, dragging behind him a body -- Grant Ward, Tony recognized with a sick roll of his stomach.

“All we ask in return,” the Winter Soldier continued, “is a tithe. Enough to repair our armor and mend our wounds, to bury our dead and feed the living.”

There was some shuffling and muttering, but no one wanted to be the next on the list for execution, and so it was organized. Two of the Avenger lieutenants went to take stock of the town’s stores, another two went into the mayor’s house to see what he’d hidden there. Another few conscripted townsfolk to deal with the bodies, taking them to the temple for proper burial. (The Winter Soldier didn’t look happy at that, but he didn’t protest it.)

The two lieutenants who’d gone to examine the stores returned empty-handed, looking grim. “There’s not nearly enough food,” the woman said, a slender redhead dressed all in black. “We can’t take more than a few sacks of grain or they’ll all starve this winter.”

Tony expected the Winter Soldier to sneer in derision and tell the lieutenants to clean out the warehouse. He feared a crueler order, to kill more people so there would be fewer demands for the food.

He didn’t expect a harsh, “Damn. What have they got that can make up for it, Falcon?”

“Not much,” said the other lieutenant, the dark man who’d killed Mayor Stern. Falcon, apparently. “Hydra’s been bleeding this place dry for years.”

“It’s not Hydra,” Tony snapped, unable to keep his mouth shut and be meek any longer. “It’s _you_.”

The Winter Soldier turned to look at Tony in surprise, as if he’d forgotten Tony was there. “How’s that?”

Tony squared his shoulders and stood as straight as he could. The Winter Soldier still towered over him, but Tony was too angry to care. “For the last five years, we’ve been sending a quarter of our harvests and profits to the capitol, because the king’s mounting soldiers and defenses to protect the kingdom from _you_.”

Falcon let out a short bark of a laugh. “Hope you can get a refund.”

The redhead frowned. “There’s no special tax in this country, now,” she said softly. “It’s the same as it’s been for almost my whole life -- ten percent.”

“No, that’s not right,” Tony argued. “You heard wrong. It’s been twenty-five for _years_. We’re barely scraping by, some years. I don’t know how the smaller villages are coping.”

The Winter Soldier rubbed at his face with that horrifically scarred hand. “The ones who collected the tax and took it to the capitol -- would that be the spies we executed?”

Sitwell and Ward, killed on the witch’s word. It felt like frost was reaching its jagged fingers into his lungs. He wanted to deny it, but couldn’t. “It... was,” he admitted.

Neither the Winter Soldier nor his lieutenants jeered in Tony’s face for it. “It’s the worst thing about Hydra,” he said. “Those men were well-liked, yeah? Friendly. Flirted a lot but never settled down. Probably helped out around town whenever someone was sick or hurt.”

It was like he’d _known_ them.

Tony didn’t respond aloud, but the Winter Soldier read the confirmation in his face and nodded. “Yeah. They want you to trust them, so you’ll never suspect they’re detouring through Hydra territory to drop off fifteen percent of your yield before taking the ten to the capitol.”

“Can we get back to the problem at hand?” Falcon prodded. “This place is skint. What are we going to do?”

“Take a token tribute and leave?” the redhead suggested. “We need to leave soon or snow will close the passes before we get home.”

“We can’t take a token tribute,” the Winter Soldier growled. “One or two won’t do any harm, but if word gets out...” He spread his hands. “Damn. Maybe they’ll turn up something in the mayor’s house.”

Tony had no doubt they would, but he doubted it would be enough to make up for an entire town’s worth of tribute. He glanced sidelong at the Winter Soldier. The man was still terrifying, barbaric and menacing -- but he was trying to find a way to save face without dooming the whole town. And the town needed to be saved.

“You’ve got me,” Tony said. He refused to flinch when three sets of dagger-sharp eyes turned to him. “Claim me as part of the tribute. I’m a highly-skilled smith. That’s got to be worth something.”

The Winter Soldier’s eyebrow went up. “I had you before we claimed tribute,” he pointed out.

“Sure, to torture and kill me,” Tony said. The Winter Soldier frowned and he opened his mouth, but Tony rode right over him. “Keeping me as a slave, that’s different. Some will think it’s kinder, but they’ll agree I’m worth more alive than dead. ”

The Winter Soldier nodded thoughtfully.

“Some,” said the redhead, “but not you?”

“Widow,” the Winter Soldier protested.

She ignored him, watching Tony intently, with eyes the bright green of spring leaves. “You would rather die than work for your enemy,” she said softly. “But you would accept that yoke to save these people.” She nodded and her lips curved the tiniest bit, not enough to call it a smile, but she seemed satisfied. “A man of iron, in both trade and will.” She looked back at the Winter Soldier. “It’s a good plan.”

The Winter Soldier looked Tony over again, slow, from head to toe and then back up to meet Tony’s gaze. Cold calculation, Tony had expected to see in the Winter Soldier’s eyes, but the depth of intelligence there was somehow startling. Finally, he nodded. “All right,” he said. “Take him back to camp and put him in my tent. We’ll pack up and head home after breakfast.”


	2. First Night

The Avengers’ camp, situated just past the low hills to the west of Shieldtown, was more civilized than Tony had been expecting. It looked at first like a disorganized sprawl, but he soon saw that there was a method to the madness, groups of low, two- or three-man tents clustered around a shared firepit. The tent-clusters were arranged in groups with a larger tent at the center -- the lieutenants, Tony assumed, and he guessed that if he made a map of the camp, he’d find that the lieutenants’ tents were placed in a loose ring around the pavilion-sized tent in the middle.

The horses and supply wagons could be seen farther west, keeping the camp as a buffer between them and any potential raids from Shieldtown.

The red-haired woman -- Widow? -- led Tony past several guard posts. They all seemed to recognize her, but eyed Tony with undisguised curiosity. She didn’t stop to gossip or provide introductions, just led Tony on a winding path through the camp that ended at the big pavilion tent.

“Do I need to tie you?” It was the first thing she’d said to him since they’d left Shieldtown.

“No.” He’d given his word. Anyway, if he tried to escape, who knew what vengeance they’d wreak upon his home? Whatever he was going to do, it would need to be after they were well beyond striking distance of Shieldtown.

She nodded and left. Tony was a little surprised that she took him at his word so easily. But, he reasoned, all she had to do was tell the camp guards not to let him leave. He might be able to sneak or finesse his way past one or two of them, but he doubted he’d make it all the way back to town without being spotted.

The pavilion was well-appointed, comfortable if not luxurious. There was a rather ingenious small collapsing table at the front, surrounded by several camp stools made of wood and hide, likewise collapsible. Two large travelling packs had been situated to one side. Tony wondered what was in them; the Winter Soldier certainly didn’t have enough of a wardrobe to need that much packing space. At the back of the tent was a cot, spread with thick furs and blankets woven into colorful patterns.

Well, Tony certainly wasn’t about to sit on the Winter Soldier’s bed. Even if it didn’t offend, it might give the warlord ideas. He claimed one of the furs and laid it on the floor in a small open space, and folded himself down to await his captor’s return.

He tried not to wonder what torments and humiliations the warlord would devise for him, but he wasn’t very successful; he’d always had a vivid imagination.

The afternoon deepened into evening, and as he was setting a flame to the lamp hanging from the center pole of the tent, Tony heard the return of the warriors, hundreds of feet tramping the ground, the creak and rattle of armor, voices calling back and forth. Tony braced... but the Winter Soldier didn’t come.

Tony waited, and waited more. He smelled fire, and crept to the tent flap, opening it only enough to peer out cautiously.

It was full night, now, the moon shining high above the river. The campfires had been lit and the scent of cooking meat reached Tony’s nose, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since midday. Somewhere, out of Tony’s line of sight, someone was playing an instrument, some kind of pipes. It was a strange but lively tune, and Tony had no trouble imagining Avenger warriors gathered around the fire and dancing.

They had enough to celebrate, after all.

There was no sign of the Winter Soldier, though. Tony let the tent flap fall closed and made his way back to his rug.

Another hour passed. Outside, Tony could hear voices raised in uneven song. They were drinking, he suspected. Wine and beer taken from Shieldtown’s cellars, no doubt.

Would the Winter Soldier be in his cups when he returned to the tent? What would that mean for Tony? Tony had been beaten by his own father when the man had been drinking; he couldn’t expect these barbaric invaders to treat him any more gently.

The tent flap opened, suddenly, shoved aside by a scar-mottled arm. The Winter Soldier stood there, looking at Tony. There wasn’t enough light for Tony to really make out his expression, just that dark, brooding scowl. He studied Tony for a long moment, unmoving, unblinking.

Tony lifted his chin, defiant.

The Winter Soldier grunted and came the rest of the way into the tent. There was a bowl in his other hand, steam rising from it. He strode straight over to Tony, holding out the bowl. ”Here.”

Cautiously, Tony took it. The bowl contained some sort of stew, meat and beans and turnips. It was topped with a thick slice of hearty brown bread. Tony’s stomach rumbled at the smell of it. “What... What is this?”

The Winter Soldier huffed out a breath. “Dinner.” He unfastened his pelt and draped it carefully over a camp chair. The scars ran all the way up his arm and onto his shoulder and chest. His shoulders were every bit as broad and muscled as the pelt made them look. “You should eat.”

“I... I don’t...”

The Winter Soldier gave him a piercing look, then came back over. He leaned down, scooped out a chunk of turnip with surprising delicacy, and popped it into his own mouth. “It’s not drugged,” he said when he’d swallowed. “Eat.” He unfastened his belt, draping that over the pelt.

Tony hesitated a moment more, uneasily watching the Winter Soldier undress, but his empty stomach didn’t seem to care what was about to happen, so long as it happened after dinner. It gurgled noisily, and the Winter Soldier glanced over again, eyebrows raised, just a bit, as if to say, _well?_

Well. Whatever the Winter Soldier meant to do with him, it would probably not be any worse for having a full stomach. Tony used the bread to scoop some of the stew into his mouth. It was good -- venison and rabbit, he thought, a little saltier than Tony might have preferred, and flavored with unfamiliar herbs. He shoveled in another mouthful, suddenly starving.

The Winter Soldier nodded and started divesting himself of his weapons. “My name,” he said, his back to Tony, “is Bucky Barnes.”

“It’s what?” Tony sputtered. That wasn’t the sort of name that ought to inspire fear across half a continent.

“You can call me Bucky,” the Wint-- Bucky continued, ignoring Tony’s outburst. “Everyone does.” His back was still to Tony as he packed his weapons into one of the packs.

_Well, now I know what’s in there_, Tony thought irrelevantly. 

When Bucky was down to nothing but his pants and that savage necklace, he opened the other pack. He retrieved a small earthenware pot with a strip of hide tied around the mouth. When he pulled off the hide cover, the tent air filled with an herbal, medicinal scent. He sat on the side of his cot, scooped out some of the contents with two fingers, and began to rub it into his injured arm, starting at the shoulder.

Tony watched furtively between mouthfuls of stew as Bucky worked the ointment into his skin. With that much scarring, Tony realized, the skin and muscle probably did get stiff and need to be worked loose again. When he finished, he tied the hide back over the top of the jar. He put it away in the pack, and took out a bundle of cloth. He carried it over to stand over Tony again.

Tony set the now-empty bowl aside and looked up, waiting. He’d sold himself to this man to save his people, but he wasn’t about to offer any suggestions.

The bundle of cloth dropped, landing in Tony’s lap. “Sleep,” Bucky said.

Cautiously, Tony tore his gaze away from his captor and unfolded the cloth. A wool blanket, woven with alternating stripes of deep red and bright gold. It was as fine and beautiful as anything Tony had ever owned, not at all what he expected of a pack of savage barbarians and marauders.

When Tony looked back up, Bucky turned down the wick on the lantern until the light was extinguished, leaving them in near-pitch darkness, then stretched out on his cot, spreading another blanket over himself.

By the time Tony’s eyes had adjusted again, straining to pick up the faint bits of light sifting through the tent walls from the fires outside, Bucky had turned his back to Tony and pulled the blanket up over his shoulders.

Tony didn’t know what he’d expected, but this... wasn’t it. He doubted he would be able to sleep, but he curled up on the fur and pulled the blanket up over his shoulders anyway. He’d likely need whatever rest he could get, tomorrow.


	3. On the Road

Tony startled awake, sitting up and looking around in dismay. It hadn’t been a dream. It was real. He was a prisoner of the Avengers, of the Winter Soldier.

The Winter Soldier who was, in fact, already awake and strapping on his weapons. He glanced over at Tony. “Ah, good, you’re up. We’ll be packing up after breakfast.”

“Just like that?”

The Winter Soldier -- Bucky, his name was _Bucky_ \-- grinned, a surprisingly boyish expression. “The Hydra’s lackeys have been removed, the tribute has been paid. Nothing else to keep us here. And we need to get back over the mountains before it snows enough to close the pass.” He pinned the pelt back into place on his shoulders, then came over and held out his hand. “Come on, up you get.”

Tony looked at that outstretched hand as if it were a poisonous snake reared to strike, and climbed to his feet without assistance.

Bucky didn’t seem bothered by the slight. He just bent down and rolled up the fur Tony had been sleeping on, then stowed it carefully in a trunk that hadn’t been in the tent the night before. The camp chairs had already been collapsed and folded to fit in the same trunk.

“Thought you said packing was after breakfast,” Tony said.

Bucky shrugged, folding the bedding from his cot. “Breakfast isn’t ready yet, and this tent takes the longest to pack. Why make more work for my people than I must?”

Tony couldn’t imagine Mayor Stern lifting a single finger to avoid making work for his servants. Or even his father.

Bucky didn’t suggest that Tony help. Tony considered the poles and ropes holding the tent up and in the back of his mind, began designing a new structure that would pack in probably a quarter of the time. Not that he was inclined to share that design with the Avengers. Who needed them to be able to move _even faster_ on their way to their chosen victims?

The tent flap opened, and a man’s head appeared. “Hey, Bucky. Breakfast’s up.”

“Thanks, Clint. Be there in a few.” Bucky fastened the trunk and tied it with rope. “Come on. Let’s go get something to eat.” He led Tony out of the tent and toward a large mass of people crowded around a fire. They all melted out of the way as Bucky approached, eyeing Tony with a variety of reactions ranging from curiosity to hostility, but none attempted to interfere.

Bucky took two plates from the cook standing over the fire and handed one to Tony. It looked like some kind of porridge, drizzled with honey and cream, sprinkled with chopped nuts.

Bucky led Tony back out of the way again, to the edge of the cluster of tents, and sat cross-legged on the grass to eat. Reluctantly, Tony sat, too, out of arm’s reach.

He was halfway through the food when Bucky wordlessly handed him a canteen. “What’s this?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Water.”

“...Right.” Tony cautiously took a sip. The water was warm and tasted metallic and musty, but it was wet and it washed down the porridge. Tony took another drink, and then offered the canteen back.

Bucky shook his head. “Keep it. I have another.” He didn’t seem to be paying much attention to Tony, gaze fixed on his plate as he scraped up the last of his breakfast.

Tony cleared his throat. “Uh. Privvy?” He hated having to ask for anything from his captor, but the water had alerted his body to the fact that it had been most of a day since he’d last relieved himself.

Bucky glanced at him, then nodded. “Latrine’s that way,” he said, pointing. He made no move to get up, though.

Tony hesitated, then stood. Bucky set his plate aside, then waved to catch the attention of a passing Avenger, and started talking about logistics. Which horses to carry gear, which to ride, which to pull the wagons.

Well, okay, then. Tony went in search of the latrine.

It wasn’t guarded. It would have been easy for him to slip away into the trees, find a place to hide. But he would certainly be missed, and he doubted the Avengers would leave without their tribute. There were surely some expert trackers amongst their number, not even counting the witch-woman who was able to see through whole buildings.

Besides, he’d given his word.

By the time he came back, most of the camp was packed up, the animals laden with supplies and most of the warriors mounted and ready to ride. One of the lieutenants -- the giant with the warhammer -- spotted him and waved him forward. He found Bucky at the head of the pack, astride a huge, steel-gray gelding. “Do you ride?” Bucky asked.

“A little,” Tony said cautiously.

Bucky just nodded and waved, and one of the Avengers led a horse over, already saddled. It wasn’t as massive as Bucky’s, a pretty roan with one white sock. The Avenger handed the reins over to Tony, then snared the bridle to steady her while Tony mounted.

“Ride with me,” Bucky said.

It wasn’t like he had much choice. When Bucky clucked his horse into movement, Tony followed. The roan was responsive and smooth-paced, and seemed to be willing to follow the big gray even without Tony’s guidance. He wondered if they’d selected an easy mount for him, knowing that a town smith wouldn’t have had much call to ride. He wasn’t sure whether to feel grateful or humiliated by that.

Both, maybe. No reason it couldn’t be both.

Tony resisted the urge to turn in the saddle for one last look at Shieldtown. He hoped they’d remember him.

“Tony Stark,” Bucky said, breaking into Tony’s thoughts. “Welcome to the Avengers. I’m glad to have you.”

Tony glanced sharply over, but Bucky’s expression was earnest. “I can’t say the same,” Tony returned.

“No, I imagine not. That was a brave thing that you did,” Bucky said. “Giving yourself over, to save your people, with no idea what would even happen to you in the hands of someone you thought of as an enemy.”

“Aren’t you?” Tony asked.

Bucky shrugged one shoulder. “The real enemy is Hydra. You know, the empire that was corrupting your people and stealing your stores?”

“I still have only your word for that,” Tony pointed out. “And even if it’s true, what makes Hydra any worse than any other empire? Infiltration and propaganda, diverting goods and wealth -- that kind of spy stuff is something that _all _kingdoms do, all the time. All the townsfolk want is to be left in peace to live their lives.”

Bucky’s face darkened. “You’ll see,” he said. “We’ll have to skirt territory that Hydra now rules, land that once belonged to us. You’ll see what they’re like when they’re done being sneaky about it.”

Tony was dubious -- naturally, the displaced leaders would believe their usurpers were worse -- but he wasn’t dumb enough to say so. “What _are_ you going to do with me?” he asked instead.

“Well, you’re too scrawny to eat,” Bucky said, but his mouth curved into a smirk, so Tony was mostly sure that was just a joke. “Truly,” he continued, “I’m not sure. We don’t generally take people, whatever you may have heard. I’m hoping I can convince you to help us. Those catapults of yours were impressive. If you’d had walls as well, we would have been in trouble.”

Well, it was nice that _someone_ appreciated Tony’s ingenuity, even if it was the Winter Soldier. Still, “Convince?” he repeated. “That’s one way to put it.” He tried not to imagine the things they would do to him, to try to force him to work for them. The list of possible cruelties was vast and varied.

Bucky looked at him. “We’re not going to torture you, Tony.”

Tony couldn’t hide his skeptical expression, that time. His machines had resulted in dead and injured Avengers.

“I won’t allow it,” Bucky insisted.

Was this some kind of mental game? Get Tony to trust him so the knife would sink deeper when it came? Or so that Tony would see Bucky as an ally and turn to him when the inevitable threats were unleashed?

“I don’t expect you to believe me,” Bucky said gently. “But I won’t. I want you to know what Hydra is, the things they’ve done, why we do this.” He waved his scarred arm in an arc that encompassed the host of Avengers behind him. “I want you to _choose_ to help us, because you know it’s the right thing to do.”

His father. His teachers. The mayor. Everyone thought they knew what the right thing to do was, and had no compunction about telling Tony about it. He didn’t think he’d ever been asked to _choose_ it.

He doubted he’d actually be allowed to choose for himself this time, either. But the sentiment was nice.

***

Tony had never been in the saddle for more than a few hours. There wasn’t much call for a smith to travel far from his forge -- at most, deliveries to the edge of town or to the outlying farms.

When the Avengers stopped for lunch and to water the horses, Tony’s backside already ached and his thighs burned. As he paced back and forth, trying to loosen the aching muscles and restore bloodflow to his rump, he could feel Bucky’s eyes on him, but the warlord never said a word.

Tony hauled himself back into the roan’s saddle after the break, and couldn’t entirely swallow a whimper as he sat. He gritted his teeth and forced his back to straighten, relieved that Bucky hadn’t seemed to notice. He’d suffered worse while learning to work the bellows and swing the smith’s hammer, he reminded himself; this was just a different part of the body, was all. He’d be damned if he showed any weakness.

He kept his lips pressed tightly together, answering Bucky’s attempts at conversation more and more briefly. When the sun was three fingers from the horizon, they halted again to make camp for the night. Tony tried to stand in the stirrup to dismount, and-- couldn’t.

It wasn’t that the muscles ached, though they definitely did. They simply refused to work at all. He tried again, and managed no more than a spasm in his thigh that made a whine leak from his throat, despite his determination.

Bucky had already slid down from his mount and was unrolling a tent -- not the grand pavilion, but something more like his lieutenants’ tents. He had it half erected before seeming to notice that Tony was still mounted. “Planning to sleep up there?” he asked, eyes twinkling.

“Maybe,” Tony shot back, but another spasm left him wracked with pain, hissing each breath through his clenched teeth.

“Hey, now,” Bucky said, gently and from much closer than Tony had expected. Tony opened eyes that he didn’t recall closing, to see Bucky had caught the roan’s bridle and was holding her steady, watching Tony with something like concern. “Should’ve put you in the wagons after lunch, hm?”

Tony slumped. “I can’t get down,” he admitted.

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “I can see that. It’s okay. I’ll get you down.”

“How?”

“Just... fall,” Bucky suggested. “Lean toward me and let yourself fall. I’ll catch you. Promise.”

“Are you kidding?”

Bucky held out his arms. “Come on,” he urged. “You can’t actually sit up there all night.”

He was going to fall off anyway, soon. It would hurt more if he dropped all the way to the ground. “Fine, just...” He wondered how many other Avengers were watching, sniggering behind their backs at their prisoner, thinking him weak and soft. Humiliated, Tony sighed and closed his eyes.

His legs protested even leaning, but Bucky reached up and caught his wrist and _pulled_. Tony had an instant’s blinding pain and terror as he fell, and then Bucky had him and was very carefully setting him on his feet.

“Ah-ah-ah,” Bucky admonished as Tony’s knees tried to buckle. His arm tightened around Tony’s waist, keeping Tony upright. “Stand up, come on. I know it hurts, but if you lie down now, you will _really_ regret it later. You need to walk around a little and loosen up.”

Tony knew that was true, but his body was screaming. He tried leaning his weight to one side and then the other, but his legs kept threatening to give up entirely. Frustratingly, he could only be grateful for Bucky’s arm still firmly around his waist, holding him up.

“Clint,” Bucky called, and a moment later the archer-lieutenant jogged over. “Handle this mess, would you?” He nodded toward the half-built tent. “I’m going to take Tony down to the stream.”

Clint glanced at Tony, and then winced. “Ow, yeah.” He nudged Tony’s arm. “First long ride of the spring always kills me, too,” he confided. “Hang in there.” Then, while Tony was still watching him warily, waiting for the mockery, he turned and crouched in front of the pile of fabric and rope, whistling cheerfully between his teeth.

“Come on,” Bucky said, tugging Tony gently away. “Down to the stream and back should loosen you up a bit.” Tony had no choice but to take a step, and then another, his legs complaining every step of the way.

The stream seemed unimaginably far away. Tony focused on the ground in front of his feet, on each step. The pain didn’t go away, but it did ease, somewhat, and Bucky cautiously let go, letting him walk on his own. When Tony looked up again, they were most of the way there. Then he thought about having to walk _back_ and whimpered.

Bucky chuckled a little, not the mocking laugh that Tony had been expecting, but something almost sympathetic. “Yeah, I know,” he said. “But it’ll help. And tomorrow you’ll ride in the wagon. It’s bumpy and stuffy, but it will give your legs a rest.”

“I didn’t expect you to be so understanding,” Tony admitted.

Bucky shrugged. “My fault,” he said. “I should’ve realized there was no way you were up to that much riding. And that you would never actually admit to needing a break.” Tony glanced over, but he was smiling, almost as if he admired Tony’s stubborn pride.

It was a pretty little stream, water rushing happily over worn-smooth rocks. The banks were thick with moss. Bucky sat on the grass. “Come on, you can probably sit down for a few minutes.”

For an instant, Tony was relieved -- and then he remembered how bruised his ass felt. “Uh, maybe not.”

Bucky squinted up at Tony and then huffed. “Take your pants off.”

“_What?_” Tony backed away a few shaky steps.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Not like _that_. Gods and devils, they really have made me into a monster, haven’t they?” He reached into the bag slung over his shoulder and came up with the little clay pot with the ointment he’d used for his arm the night before. The breeze carried its scent to Tony, sharply medicinal. “It’s good for muscles and bruises. Take your pants off and lie down.”

Tony hesitated a moment longer, but even riding in the wagon was going to be agony if he didn’t get some kind of help. Slowly, he unfastened his trousers and shoved them off. He glanced up, but Bucky was pointedly facing away, looking out over the stream. Tony laid down on the soft moss, wriggling a little to get comfortable, and rested his head on folded arms, watching the stream burble past. “Okay.”

Bucky’s footsteps were slow and, Tony thought, deliberately noisy, scuffing against the rocks and rustling the grass. Bucky knelt by Tony’s hip -- or maybe sat, Tony wasn’t sure; he just knew he could feel the heat of Bucky’s body near his own skin.

“I’m going to touch you,” Bucky said softly. “Stop me if I hurt you.”

Tony couldn’t help tensing in anticipation, but then Bucky’s hand was on the back of his thigh, low, almost at his knee. In careful circles, Bucky rubbed the salve into Tony’s skin, working it into the back and inside of Tony’s leg, moving slowly upward. It felt cold, and then warm, and then _hot_, and for a few seconds, Tony was panting, certain his skin was on _fire_ \-- and then the muscles quivered and twitched, and something eased. “Oh,” he sighed.

“There you go,” Bucky said, sounding amused. He rubbed the stuff very carefully into the skin of Tony’s rump, but his touch was impersonal, neither teasing nor cruel. “It makes bruises _look_ worse,” he told Tony, “but heal faster.” That done, he shifted slightly and started on the other side, the same way.

Now that Tony knew what to expect, the heat of the stuff wasn’t quite so unbearable.

“Handy stuff,” he commented.

“It is,” Bucky agreed. “It’s not easy to come by -- one of its ingredients is only available in the land controlled by Hydra. They charge dearly for it, when they’re willing to sell it at all.” He finished rubbing the stuff into Tony’s skin and tied the cover back onto the pot to put it away. “That was the start of it, actually. We sent out raiding parties to steal supplies that we don’t have access to, anymore. And then we found out that Hydra was spreading south using subtle trickery, like they were doing in your town.”

“And you decided to free us from the evil scourge out of the goodness of your hearts,” Tony said, probably more sarcastically than a man with his ass still exposed to the air ought to be. He pushed up onto his knees and pulled his pants up, lacing them hurriedly.

“And supplies,” Bucky admitted. “There’s still a lot of things we need that we can’t grow or make in the little stretch of mountains that we’re confined to.”

“Normally, people just trade,” Tony informed him.

Bucky burst out laughing. “I like you,” he said. “I like that you’re not afraid of me.”

“I’m plenty afraid,” Tony countered.

“Then I like you even more,” Bucky said, “for your bravery.”

Tony shot a look at him, but the warlord merely climbed to his feet. “Shall we head back? By now, Clint will have gotten our tent up, or else been tangled hopelessly in the ropes.” He held out his hand, offering, and Tony took it.

***

Two weeks on the road had hardened Tony some and taught him a lot. He could help pitch the tents, now, as well as brush down the horses, and cook a simple campfire stew. He’d even been of actual use the fourth or fifth day out, when the wagon’s wheel was caught in a rut and broke. 

Bucky had been extremely appreciative and grateful for Tony’s assistance with the repair. He made sure to ride with Tony for at least a few hours every day, both in the wagon and, as Tony’s bruises faded, once again riding the roan. As they talked, Tony found him well-spoken, unfailingly considerate, even charming.

He had talked to some of the other Avengers, too, as they traveled. While they were every bit as fierce as their reputations said, they were also startlingly kind, patient with Tony’s never-ending questions. He expected them to despise him, to look down on him as a prisoner, or because he’d built the machines that had hurt and even killed them -- at best, he thought, they might pity him. But there was little sign of any negative feeling. On the contrary, most of them seemed to admire Tony for the sacrifice he’d made, putting himself into their hands to save his town.

If it weren’t for the fact that he was a prisoner, Tony thought, he could actually find himself liking these people.

That evening, as they ducked into Bucky’s tent to prepare for sleep, Bucky said, “Tomorrow, we should reach the outskirts of Hydra-controlled land.” He sat on top of his bedroll and stripped out of the simple linen shirt he usually wore. The fur, Tony had discovered, was for putting on a show as the Winter Soldier. Bucky wore that necklace of fangs, though, all the time.

Tony took the pot of salve out of his hand, and he looked startled, even though Tony had been doing this for several days now.

Tony unwrapped the pot and dipped his fingers into the pungent stuff, and began to massage it into Bucky’s scarred arm. “Your big chance to convince me Hydra’s as bad as you say,” he said lightly.

Bucky put a hand over Tony’s, stopping him, and looked very seriously into Tony’s face. “They encourage wild beasts and monsters to roam the countryside. To keep the simple folk afraid to leave their villages. You must not wander off, not until we have crossed the mountains.”

Tony huffed. “Have I wandered yet? Where would I even go?”

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t know. But if you were hurt -- killed -- I would be... very upset.”

The way Bucky was looking at him, intense and urgent, made Tony want to squirm. He resumed his self-appointed task of rubbing the salve into Bucky’s damaged arm, easing the muscles constantly pulled wrong by the scars. “Sure,” he said lightly. “I’m a significant chunk of your tribute, after all.” 

“Tony--”

Tony pushed the pot back into Bucky’s hands. “There, all done. I’m going to sleep.” He pulled his blanket over him and laid on his bedroll, turning his back to Bucky.

For a long while, Bucky didn’t move, and Tony thought he could feel Bucky’s gaze on his back, heavy like an actual physical presence. But eventually, Bucky turned down the lantern wick and wrapped up in his own blanket.

It seemed like a long time before Tony was able to close his eyes and sleep.


	4. Hydra Territory

The outer edges of Hydra territory didn’t look much different from the hilly country they’d been traveling, though the condition of the road deteriorated significantly. Still, poor governance did not an evil empire make.

The first farm they passed had long since been harvested, but the fields had not yet been turned under for the winter.

Bucky gave Clint a purse. “Go find the farmhouse and see if they’ll let us glean the leavings. Take Tony with you.”

“Why me?” Tony asked.

“Talk to the people,” Bucky told him, smiling grimly. “Form your own opinions.”

Tony stared in confusion for a moment, then swung down out of the saddle and trudged after Clint.

Even from a distance, the farmhouse looked rundown, but the people seemed normal enough. A trio of small children were playing some sort of game with a dog while two adults worked, splitting wood. When they noticed Clint and Tony coming down the path, one of them left their axe buried in the splitting stump and herded the children inside.

By the time they reached the gate, the remaining farmer -- a man a little older than Tony -- was waiting for them, axe gripped in one hand and the dog sitting at his heels. “Where you come from?” he demanded.

“The south,” Clint said easily. “My friend and I are part of a troupe, passing through. We’d like to forage in your western field.” He jingled the purse Bucky had given him.

The farmer’s eyes narrowed. “How much?”

While he dickered with Clint, Tony looked around. The house was in even worse shape, close up. The fence around the yard looked sturdy, but several posts were crooked despite what looked like heavy bracing props, and the gate’s latch had been broken and crudely repaired with a length of heavy rope. The farmer’s clothes were practically rags, and the dog’s ribs stood out.

“I can fix your gate,” Tony offered.

Both the farmer and Clint turned to look at him.

“Well, I can,” Tony said. “Looks like you’ve got something that likes to lean on the fence -- a donkey, maybe, or a cow? Something heavy, anyway. I can put together a brace that you can drop and lift, on a swivel. Only take a couple of hours.”

The farmer eyed him for a moment, then nodded shortly. “Aye. That, plus the coin,” he told Clint, “an’ whatever’s left in the west field is yours for th’ taking.”

“Done,” Clint agreed.

The farmer nodded. “I’ll see your coin, first. You.” He pointed at Tony. “Bring it here. You stay back,” he told Clint.

Clint opened the purse from Bucky and counted out coins into Tony’s hand. “Be careful,” he said. “I’ll keep watch.”

Tony shook his head. “No sense in you waiting around. You should get back to the others, so they can start the gleaning. I’ll be fine.”

Clint looked like he might argue, but a glance at the angle of the sun stopped him. “Okay. Someone will come back for you.”

Tony huffed. “I know I’m a townie, but I think I can find my way back to the west field.”

“Someone will come anyway,” Clint told him. Before Tony could protest again, Clint clapped Tony’s arm and turned away, jogging back up the path.

Tony watched him go for a moment, then turned back to the farmer. “Right. Let’s get started.”

***

The farmer watched Tony fixing the gate with a sharp and not particularly friendly eye. Tony tried not to let it bother him. He tried to make small talk as he worked, inquiring about the weather and the past season’s crop and whether the winter was expected to be worse than usual this year. The farmer -- who still hadn’t offered a name, though Tony had given his -- answered mostly in grunts and monosyllables.

It wasn’t until Tony said something about the markets that the man finally snorted. “Now I know you’re not from around here.” Tony looked at him curiously, and he shook his head. “Hasn’t been a town market since before my second was born.”

Tony actually put down the hinge he’d been carving and looked at the farmer directly. “No market? But then how...?”

“Oh, we trade, a little, one on one. This an’ that. But there ain’t much to trade _ with_; th’ taxman takes ‘bout everything but the winter stores and the seed for spring. Been that way since the Hydra took over.”

“Huh. I’d... heard that Hydra wasn’t the kindest of masters,” Tony said carefully. “But it’s hard to credit. Where I’m from, one royal is much like all the others.”

“Believe it,” the farmer said blackly. “I thought the same, when word came of the coup. For a year or two, everything went on as always, and then...” He spread his hands. “Barely scrapin’ by, now.” He nodded at the pieces in Tony’s hands. “Best get on with that. You don’t want to be out an’ about after dark.”

“You get a lot of brigands, out here?” Tony would have thought they were too far from a main road for that.

The farmer shook his head, grim, but walked away without answering.

When Tony had finished the gate, it was closer to evening than afternoon. He showed the farmer how to set the bracing post so the gate couldn’t easily be pushed open, and accepted a handshake by way of thanks. None of the Avengers had come to escort him back, but the farmer’s warning had been so unsettling that he decided to set out on his own.

He was just out of sight of the farmhouse, and not quite in sight of the Avengers camp yet when it occurred to him that he could slip away. Hide, turn back, go _ home _.

For a long moment, he stood frozen on the narrow path, considering it.

But... “Home” had given him up without a single protest aside from his mother’s. And it would be a long, dangerous trek back, alone and on foot.

And Bucky hadn’t lied, it seemed, about Hydra. Exaggerated, perhaps -- but not lied outright. Tony took a breath and continued walking. He felt a little dazed, as if he’d made a momentous decision, even moreso than when he’d volunteered to be the Avengers’ tribute.

Perhaps he had.

He was so caught up in turning that thought over that the growl took him completely by surprise.

It was low and rumbling, and Tony knew before he even turned to look that he didn’t want to see what it was.

He turned, and as soon as he spotted the... _ creature_, it growled again, lips lifting from its muzzle in a snarl.

He didn’t know what it was. He’d never seen anything like it. It looked a little like a wolf’s head had been transplanted onto a bear’s body. That was all he had time to put together before his brain caught up with him: _ Run, idiot! _

He ran.

He was going to die. Bear or wolf, there was no way he could outrun this thing. There was a stand of trees nearby, but Tony wasn’t much of a climber -- and anyway, bears could climb.

It didn’t stop him from running, some primal, primordial sense of terror lending speed to his legs.

He didn’t slow down enough to glance behind him, but out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement. The thing was _ pacing _ him.

It swerved closer, and Tony angled away. It swerved again.

It was herding him. Driving him -- where? To its den? To its cubs?

The creature came closer still.

Tony didn’t have enough breath left in his lungs to even sob in fear.

A soft whistle preceded as meaty thump, and the creature fell back with a horrifying scream of rage. Tony stumbled, and suddenly Bucky was there, diving between Tony and the monster, a sword in one hand and a knife in the other.

He bellowed something in a language Tony didn’t know and charged the beast. Tony watched in horror, certain the thing would rend Bucky limb from limb. It reared up on its hind legs like a bear, lifting its muzzle to the sky to howl. An arrow shaft protruded from one eye, but it was still fighting.

Bucky ducked low and came in under the creature’s swinging paws, sword flashing in the waning light.

The thing howled again, this time in pain, its cry considerably weaker. It slashed at Bucky, but Bucky had already darted out of its range.

It hesitated, and Tony heard another soft whistle, felt the light breeze of the arrow brushing past his ear. Before he could even cry out in surprise, the monster toppled, crashing to the ground.

Tony couldn’t look away from it.

“Are you hurt?”

Tony’s chest ached from the frantic run, from the surge of terror. He stared at the beast, panting.

Bucky stepped in front of him, blocking his view. “Tony. Are you hurt?”

Tony blinked, looked down at himself. “No, I... I don’t think so.” His hands were shaking uncontrollably, and his knees were threatening to give out, but he wasn’t injured. “What... What _ was _ that thing?”

Bucky smiled grimly. “We call ‘em bearkin. Hydra made them. Or maybe found them. But they breed the things, set them loose to roam the borders. They won’t _ cross _ the border, but they lurk near it.”

Clint came jogging up. “Okay?”

Bucky nodded, wiping the bearkin’s blood off his sword with a rag. “Fine. Thanks for the assist.”

“No problem.” He shot Tony a look. “Told you we’d come for you,” he scolded.

Tony shivered. If they’d been any farther behind... “I didn’t... Didn’t realize,” he said. His voice sounded dry and breathy to his own ears.

Bucky flapped a hand at Clint. “Don’t lecture,” he said. “Won’t do any good. Now he knows.”

Tony nodded fervent agreement.

“Okay, let’s get back to the camp,” Bucky said, waving his sword to indicate direction. Shit; the bearkin’s chase had pushed Tony _ way _ off course.

Tony took a step, and crumpled to the ground.

“Tony!” Bucky was crouched over him, patting down his legs, checking. “Did it get you? Show me--”

Tony shook his head, mortified and still half-terrified and trembling with relief. “Sorry, sorry,” he gasped. “Give me a minute, I just need...” He braced his hands on the ground, still faintly warm with the day’s sun, and tried to breathe.

It took longer than he’d hoped, but when he looked up, Bucky was still right there, crouched beside him, waiting.

“Takes it out of you,” Bucky said calmly. “Almost dying. Take your time.”

Tony grimaced. “I’m okay. I’m... I think I can stand up again.”

Bucky nodded. He stood up and offered Tony a hand. “Come on.”

Tony reached up, let Bucky’s strength pull him off the ground. “Thanks.” He glanced past Bucky, but the bearkin carcass was gone. “What--”

“Clint took it back,” Bucky said. “It’s not the best meat, but it’s edible. And the fur is good, too. Very warm.”

“Oh.” Tony didn’t know how he felt about eating a thing that had almost certainly been ready to eat _ him _ only moments earlier, but Bucky was right; there was no point in being wasteful.

His legs were steadier, if still a little wobbly. He couldn’t help but notice -- and be grateful for -- the way Bucky hovered close by, ready to catch him if he collapsed again.


	5. Avengers Territory

Tony wasn’t certain what he’d expected of the Avengers’ home. After most of a week skirting the edges of Hydra territory -- two more bearkin and something that Natasha called an addercat -- Tony thought he wouldn’t care if the Avengers lived year-round in their tents like nomads, or underground, or in treehouses, as long as it wasn’t infested with monsters.

So he was a little surprised when they came down out of the mountain pass -- walking, because the pass was too steep for the wagon and the baggage had been divided among them all, horses and warriors alike -- to find what looked like a perfectly normal town.

A large town, or perhaps a small city, it had high, heavy walls with a narrow, guarded gate, but the buildings within looked much like the buildings of Shieldtown. 

Bucky laughed at Tony’s expression. “Did you think we lived in mud huts?”

Tony scowled at him. “How should I know what to think? You rode down on us like a barbarian, half-naked except that fur! You _ acted _ like a bunch of barbarians!”

Bucky snorted. “Well, I guess I’ll have to tell Steve that he was right about the whole _ savage image _ thing.”

“Who’s Steve?”

“Really? All this time, and no one’s-- Steve’s our leader, our chief.”

Tony stumbled a little. “I thought that was you.”

“Gods, no,” Bucky said. “I’m the warlord, first of the warriors, but I’m no leader, outside of battle.”

Tony could have disputed that -- Bucky had kept the Avengers organized and moving on the road with impressive efficiency. But he just shook his head. “Will I meet him?”

“Of course,” Bucky said. “You’re tribute, after all.”

Tony’s feet kept moving, but cold dread wrapped around him. He’d... forgotten, really, that he was a prisoner, a _ slave _ , tribute to appease the wrath of the Avengers. Bucky and the lieutenants had treated Tony kindly, but what would this _ Steve _ do with him?

“Oh, damn it -- Tony,” Bucky said urgently. “_ Tony _ . I didn’t mean it, I was _ joking _.” His eyes were wide and anxious, his hands spread placatingly. “Just a joke.”

Tony swallowed hard and lifted his chin. “Except it’s not, is it?” he said. “It’s what I am.”

“You’re a _ guest _,” Bucky said firmly. “No one will make you do anything you don’t want to do. I swear it.”

_ But I won’t be allowed to leave, either, _ Tony thought. They’d taken him as tribute to preserve their fierce reputation; letting him leave would undermine that. He shook it off. He’d volunteered, after all. And at least if he was to be a prisoner, it would be a comfortable cage. He made himself smile acceptance of Bucky’s reassurances, and stiffen his spine to walk tall and proud as they passed through the gates.

***

Steve, the Avengers’ chief, was taller even than Bucky and nearly as broad in the shoulders, with pale hair and skin and eyes like the summer sky. He met the Avengers in the streets, a broad smile on his face as he embraced Bucky like an old friend, then hugged and shook hands and traded words with the lieutenants, everyone in high spirits.

He stopped abruptly when he saw Tony. “Who’s this?”

“Our guest,” Bucky said, raising his voice for the curious who’d gathered. “Tony Stark, a smith and builder, late of Shieldtown, and the bravest man I’ve yet met outside these walls.”

“Then it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Stark,” Steve said, offering Tony his hand. “Bucky doesn’t just say things like that. I’m Steve Rogers.”

Tony let Steve shake his hand. Steve’s grip was firm but not crushing, his hand warm and dry. It wasn’t anything like Mayor Stern’s handshake had been. “Mr. Rogers,” Tony said. “Or is it Chief, or--”

“No, no, just Steve is fine,” Steve said. “There aren’t so many of us that I need to stand on ceremony.”

That was utterly unlike Mayor Stern, too.

Steve let go of Tony’s hand and beckoned. “Come on, this way. If you’re guesting with us, we’ll need to find you a place to stay.” He turned to Bucky. “Glad you made it back in one piece. I’ll see you tonight?”

Bucky nodded. “Tonight,” he promised. “I’ll tell you all about it.” He glanced at Tony and hesitated.

Of course Tony was a little uncertain about having traded hands, about following a stranger and parting ways with the man who’d had his keeping for the last several weeks. That was all it was, obviously, not... some desire to stay with Bucky, specifically.

Some of that distress must have shown on his face, though, because Bucky reached up to squeeze Tony’s shoulder. “I’ll see you tonight, too,” he promised. “At the feast.”

“There’s a feast?”

“Of sorts,” Steve agreed. “It’s not very lavish. We don’t have much. But the return of our warriors is a call for celebration.”

“I suppose so.” Tony tried not to think of the Avengers who’d been laid to rest in the fields outside of Shieldtown, killed by Tony’s machines. Steve wouldn’t be so welcoming, he expected, when that tale was told.

“Come on,” Steve said, oblivious to Tony’s inner turmoil. “I’m sure you’ll want to rest before the festivities begin. And wash up. We’ll find you come clothes; yours look well-traveled.”

“And smell it, as well, I expect,” Tony said. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Any friend of Bucky’s,” Steve said, smiling. “We grew up together, practically brothers. I’d trust his judgment before my own.”

He led Tony into a maze of a building -- Tony was tempted to think of it as a palace, but the rooms were mostly small and plain, not the sort of place one expected to find the wealthy idling away their ennui-filled hours.

“What is this place?”

“Ah. A generation ago, it was a school. My own mother studied here, to learn the craft of a healer.” Steve dragged his hand along one wall affectionately. “When Hydra took over, those of us who escaped came here.”

“They didn’t chase you?”

Steve shook his head. “They did. But the mountain passes are narrow, and -- as you’ve seen -- our fighters are skilled and cunning. They make another attempt, every so often, but there’s not really much here to be worth fighting over. There’s no passage to the other side of the mountains on the far side of the valley. There’s no significant resources -- no ores or gems to be mined, not much arable land. There are some goat herders up on the mountainsides who are doing well, but...” He shrugged.

“So you all just... moved into the university?” Tony looked around curiously. He’d dreamed, once, of going to the university in Cammass, but his father had forbidden it, wanting Tony to stay in Shieldtown.

“More or less,” Steve agreed. “It’s not really a university any more, but it’s still the center of the town, where many of us live and work. Ah -- here, I think this room is unoccupied. There’s a bathing room, just down there, if you want. I’ll send someone with fresh clothes. And to bring you to the feast tonight.”

It was a more comfortable cage than Tony had any right to expect. “Thank you,” he made himself say.

Steve lingered in the doorway, some sort of question in his eyes, but before it could find its way out of his mouth, he shook his head and left.

The room was small and simple, but it smelled clean. There was a cot with a wool blanket folded across it, a stool, and a sturdy chest to keep his things in. The walls were plastered stone, but there was a shuttered window on one wall. Curious, Tony tried the latch. It was a little sticky, but when he’d tugged it loose, the shutters swung open readily enough.

The view wasn’t spectacular -- the back of some building across an alley -- but if he leaned out and looked up, he could see the sky. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, in a thin little stream, until he knew the tears lurking in the corners of his eyes wouldn’t fall.

A bath would be nice. He’d dunked himself in a few streams along the way, but a proper bath definitely appealed. Especially if he was expected to present himself at this feast.

The bathing room had a rather clever mechanism to keep warm water circulating through a long, narrow pool -- designed, Tony thought, for maximum efficiency. Which made sense, if they really were as resource-poor as Bucky -- and now Steve -- had said they were. Tony prowled the room, poking into every crevice and nook. The water for the pool appeared to be drawn from an underground spring -- another inventive system of pipes and doors that let water in at one end of the pool, nearest the warming fire, and drained it at the other end.

Tony wondered who’d designed the devices, whether they were someone he could talk to. He had ideas for how to improve the system -- but someone with experience might be able to tell him if they were ideas that had already been tried and failed for some hidden reason.

Thinking about how to make the bathing pool more efficient at least occupied his thoughts while he soaked in the hot water and scrubbed several weeks’ worth of travel out of his skin and hair.

He lost track of how long he stayed in the bath -- but no one came to chastise him or hurry him along, and what else was he going to do? He soaked, and scrubbed until he felt like he’d taken off several layers of skin, and then soaked some more. Finally, he climbed out of the pool and found a long towel to wind around himself. He hoped the clothes he’d been promised had made their way to his room; he really didn’t want to put his filthy clothes from home back on, not before they’d been washed.

He left the bath and almost immediately stumbled to a halt in the hallway. Bucky was there, leaning against the wall next to the door to the room Tony had been given. Waiting.

He looked up at Tony’s step and smiled. “Hey, you found the bath.” He held up a bundle of cloth. “I brought you some clothes.” He glanced down and then quickly looked back up, the tips of his ears going pink. “I’ll, uh. Wait out here while you get dressed, and then take you to dinner?”

Tony made his feet move again. “Okay. Aren’t you too important to be running errands like this?”

“You’re my guest,” Bucky said, handing over the clothes. “So you’re even more important than me.”

“I’m not convinced you know how this whole warlord-prisoner thing works,” Tony said. The cloth was soft in his hands, and smelled faintly of new grass and something herbal.

“Guest,” Bucky corrected. “You’re important to _ me _. I volunteered to bring you. I thought you’d rather see a familiar face.” The smile faded. “I was-- If you’d rather I send someone else--”

“It’s fine,” Tony said, pushing down a pang at the loss of that happy smile. “I’ll just...” He waved at the door.

Bucky nodded and stepped aside, though he hadn’t been blocking it. “Right. I’ll... I’ll wait.”

Tony ducked into the room and closed the door. The clothes Bucky had brought him were sturdy and loose-fitting, cream-colored wool pants, and a tunic woven from some fiber Tony didn’t recognize, soft and supple and dyed a rich, vibrant red with bronze embroidery around the collar. They weren’t like anything he’d ever seen before, but it was comfortable and warm in the crisp, late-autumn air.

Tony shoved his fingers through his hair in an attempt to coerce it into some sort of order, then squared his shoulders and stepped out into the hall.

Bucky straightened from where he’d been leaning against the opposite wall, his eyes wide as he looked Tony over. “Wow. You look-- You look amazing.” He indicated the direction with a jerk of his head and started walking. Tony had to jog a few steps to catch up. “Everyone will want to dance with you,” Bucky predicted.

“Uh--” Tony felt foolish. Of course it was common for feasts to include music and dancing, but it hadn’t occurred to him. “I don’t know much about dancing,” he admitted. “And your dances probably aren’t like the ones I know...”

Bucky flashed a smile. “I’ll teach you,” he promised. “Most of them aren’t difficult.”

Tony was saved from having to respond to that by their arrival at an enormous hall, filled with people. There were several dozen tables, trestles with benches on either side; most of them were packed with people squeezed in hip to hip and shoulder to shoulder.

One long table at one end of the room held all the food -- savory meats and roasted vegetables, loaves of bread and wheels of cheese, bowls filled with fruit and nuts, pastries and stews, bottles of wine and casks of ale. It had obviously already been picked over, but there was a great deal still left to choose from.

The table at the opposite end of the room only had a bench on one side, against the wall, so that everyone who sat there could look out along the whole room. Tony recognized Steve in the center, and several of Bucky’s lieutenants along its length.

“Table of honors?” Tony guessed.

Bucky nodded, leading Tony toward the food. He handed Tony a pewter plate and a cup that looked like it had been made from some kind of horn. “These feasts, it’s traditional for everyone to bring something of their own to share,” he explained.

“I don’t have anything,” Tony started, but Bucky was already shaking his head, even as he put a thick slice of dark brown bread on Tony’s plate, and took another for himself. “It’s fine. You’re a guest.” He drizzled honey over his own bread, and moved down the table, picking and choosing.

Tony wasn’t especially hungry, not in the face of so many people, but he found something that looked like blueberry preserves and put that on his bread, and took a little meat and some cheese. He let Bucky fill his cup, and then scanned the hall. Bucky, of course, would sit at the head table in a place of honor. Probably in that vacant space at Steve’s right hand. Tony wondered if he could find one of Bucky’s lower-ranked warriors to sit with. Or maybe a cluster of elders.

“Come on,” Bucky urged, and Tony looked around. Bucky nodded toward the head table. “You’re with me,” he said.

Oh.

All right. That probably made sense, Tony thought. Let everyone see him, get their fill of gawking. He took a deep breath and followed Bucky along the length of the hall to the head table.

As he’d expected, Bucky set his plate down next to Steve’s. Then he nudged at the Avenger on the other side -- Natasha. “Make room,” he said.

Natasha glanced back over her shoulder, her sharp eyes fixing on Tony for only a second, and then willingly scooted over, pushing at Clint.

Tony swallowed and stepped over the bench to take his seat. It was crowded, even with the little ripple of adjustment that made its way down the side of the table. Tony’s shoulder was pressed tightly against Bucky’s, their legs aligned under the table.

Tony made himself take a bite of the bread -- it was good, thick and hearty, the preserves adding just the right touch of sweetness. It took effort to chew and swallow, though, aware as he was of all the eyes watching him curiously.

Bucky didn’t seem to notice; he was working through his mounded plate with a warrior’s appetite. He did stop every so often to glance over and ask whether Tony liked the food, if he’d tried this or that, would he like a bit of Bucky’s...? Tony nibbled the bits that Bucky offered, but they all tasted like ash.

Steve stood up and banged the hilt of his knife on the table until the noise of the room dropped enough for him to be heard. He climbed up to stand on the bench, and began some sort of speech about the raiders’ success. There were a lot of pauses for cheering, stamping of feet, and piercing whistling as Steve praised Bucky and the lieutenants.

Tony focused on his plate, waiting and steeling himself.

“And now I would like to introduce you all--” Here it came. “--to Mr. Stark, a smith and engineer of no small talent, who has chosen to aid us with his expertise. He will be staying here in the Collegium for the time being. I ask you all to grant him every courtesy.” He turned and gestured.

Obedient to the gesture, Tony stood up, looking out over the sea of faces.

He didn’t know who started the clapping, but it swept through the room like wildfire, until everyone was applauding him, welcoming him.

He looked at Steve, confused. No mention of the havoc Tony’s weapons had wreaked against the Avengers. Or of the bargain that made him a prisoner. Steve had introduced him as if he were here willingly, an esteemed visitor. Surely Bucky had _ told _ Steve the whole tale?

Tony looked from Steve to Bucky, but Bucky didn’t seem confused, either. He was grinning up at Tony and clapping as hard as anyone in the room.

As it died down, Tony let his legs fold, dropping him back onto the bench. “What--”

“Told you,” Bucky said in an undertone, as Steve continued to address the room. “Guest.”

If Tony were actually a guest, he could walk away, right now. He was tempted to try it, just to prove his point, but he wasn’t nearly that brave, in front of the entire assembly of the Avengers.

Steve wound down not much later, and as if there had been a signal Tony couldn’t see, everyone jumped up and began moving the tables and benches off to the sides of the room. Tony blinked, startled, then glanced at Bucky. “Dancing?”

Bucky nodded. “We like dancing,” he said, folding his arms on the table. The head table, at least, wasn’t being moved, though half the Avengers who had been sitting there got up to help clear the floor. “Come and dance,” Bucky offered.

“I’ll watch for a bit, first,” Tony hedged.

Bucky shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He nearly vaulted over the table as the music started -- nearly a dozen people had brought out fiddles and simple flutes and some kind of stringed instrument Tony didn’t recognize and one boy had a drum. The dancing wasn’t organized at all; everyone seemed to just grab the nearest person and begin moving.

It was wild and carefree, and nothing at all like the country dances Tony had watched at home. The music was unfamiliar, too, rhythms Tony couldn’t quite anticipate and tempos that seemed either too fast or too slow. He watched as Bucky was passed from partner to partner, laughing and spinning, hand on that person’s shoulder or this one’s waist.

He pulled Natasha in close and bent to whisper in her ear, and Tony felt hot and embarrassed just watching; in Shieldtown, dancing so close would have caused a scandal to keep the gossips chattering for nearly a month.

There was a pattern to it, he realized after a while, in the way their feet moved, the speed with which they turned and swayed, though every couple in the room, practically, seemed to be at a different point in the steps at any given moment. As if the dance was only between those two, not to be shared with anyone else.

Bucky was breathless and laughing when he came back to the table and offered Tony his hand. “You’ve watched long enough,” he said, eyes sparkling. “Let me teach you.”

Tony could have demurred, if he’d really wanted. He didn’t think Bucky would insist if he was specific about his refusal. But he found himself putting his hand into Bucky’s, letting Bucky lead him to a less-crowded corner of the room.

Bucky was a surprisingly good teacher, demonstrating first, and then letting Tony find his way through the steps on his own before curving his arm around Tony’s waist. “Shall we?”

Tony’s blood ran hot and then cold, shivering through his limbs. They were so _ close _; he could feel Bucky’s breath on his cheek, the heat of the man wrapping around him like a blanket. He didn’t think he’d be able to remember a single step, not with this much distraction--

But then Bucky stepped, and Tony stepped with him, and they were dancing.

The rest of the room seemed to fade away. There was music and noise and laughter and other bodies moving around them, but they weren’t important. There was the warmth of Bucky’s skin and the firm press of their bodies and the way these strange steps seemed particularly suited to the strange rhythms of this music. There was the gentle smile on Bucky’s lips and the intent look in Bucky’s eyes, watching Tony as he steered them through the space, somehow avoiding everyone else without ever looking away from Tony.

Tony didn’t know if he’d be able to dance like this with anyone else, but Bucky had stopped switching partners every few minutes, it seemed. No one came over to interrupt them; no other couples slid in to trade partners.

There might have been nothing else in the world except the two of them.

He had no idea how long they’d been dancing before Bucky said, “You’re a fast learner. Just when I thought I couldn’t be any more impressed...”

Tony couldn’t quite bear the weight of that admiration. His gaze flicked down, landing on the pulse point of Bucky’s throat. “I’ve always been a quick study,” he said.

“Ever more impressive,” Bucky said. He dipped his head a little, until his lips brushed Tony’s cheek as he murmured, “I’m sorry for the way we met, but I’m proud to know you.”

A shiver slithered through Tony’s body. “You’re -- all of you -- nothing like I expected,” he admitted.

Bucky looked pleased at that. They kept dancing, spinning and stepping, their bodies drawing apart and then closing in again. Everything was so _ warm _, and then warmer still, until it made Tony’s head swim and he misstepped, nearly tumbling them into another knot of dancers. Bucky caught him, his arm sure and strong, righting Tony gently and leading them back to the sidelines. “Are you all right?”

“Tired,” Tony admitted. “And it’s so... hot in here.”

Bucky nodded. “Happens. Sometimes we have dances in the winter just to heat ourselves up.” His arm was still around Tony’s waist, supporting. “May I show you back to your room?”

Tony was pretty sure he could find it on his own; they hadn’t made so many turns on the way to this hall that he’d lost track. But his legs seemed weak and trembling, so he nodded. “Yes, that would be... helpful.”

Bucky’s smile could have lit the room better than a dozen candles or lanterns. He dropped his arm from Tony’s waist as they walked, but kept Tony’s hand in his. Tony could have objected, or pulled free, but the halls were chilly, especially by contrast; it was nice to have a point of warmth to cling to.

They didn’t speak until they’d reached Tony’s door. Reluctantly, he tugged his hand free and lifted the latch. “Thank you,” he said.

“Tony?”

Bucky’s voice was a little rough, almost breathless, and Tony turned. His gaze was arrested by Bucky’s eyes, wide and dark in the lamplight of the hallway, intently searching Tony’s face. Bucky’s hand came up, brushed a thumb lightly down Tony’s cheek. Before Tony could ask, or even really wonder, Bucky leaned down and kissed Tony. Gentle, chaste, little more than a light brush of lips.

“Sleep well,” Bucky said, before Tony could summon a single thought or word, and turned, leaving Tony in the half-open doorway, immobile with shock.

***

When the early light of dawn began to filter through the cracks of the shutter, Tony was already awake. He hadn’t managed more than a few hours of restless sleep. He could blame the unfamiliar bed and night noises, or indigestion from the unaccustomed food, but if he were forced to be honest, he couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss.

He kept turning it over in his head. Why? And why hadn’t he realized it was coming? What, exactly, did Bucky want from him?

And, most painfully of all, what did _ he _ want?

Bucky had been kind to him, in the weeks they’d traveled together. Solicitous. Generous with his compliments -- but without false flattery. He’d been just as quick to praise his own people.

And it wasn’t like Tony had failed to notice that Bucky was a handsome man -- once Tony had gotten past the strangeness of his looks, the long hair and the barbaric tooth-and-claw jewelry, at least. Bright eyes and a ready smile, broad shoulders and thick muscle.

But he was a warrior, a war_ lord _. Tony couldn’t forget that he was steeped in blood and intimidation.

He couldn’t forget that he was Bucky’s _ prisoner _, whatever name they gave it, however gentle they were.

But the way Bucky had danced with him...

Tony shook his head, scrubbing his hands over his face. 

He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t even know what to _ think _.

He wasn’t going to be able to sleep any more. He got up and threw open the shutters. The air outside was frigid, but it felt good to take a long, deep breath, filling his lungs with that icy crackle.

Maybe Bucky hadn’t meant to kiss him, after all. Maybe it had just been too much wine, and the heat of the gathering room, and the dizzy spin of the dancing.

Maybe it would all just... go away. He could hope, right?

He pulled on the tunic and pants, and listened at the door for a moment to be sure no one was out there, waiting for him. He opened the door on an empty hallway.

Relieved -- but maybe just a little disappointed -- he made his way back to the big room where the feast had been, wondering if there were any remnants left out that he could nibble on.

Bucky wasn’t there, but Steve was, sitting at the same head table, surrounded now by others -- Tony recognized Bucky’s lieutenants Sam and Natasha, and the witch, Wanda, who wasn’t a lieutenant but wasn’t a warrior, either. There were other people there as well who Tony didn’t recognize. They were very earnestly going over some sort of accounts.

The tally of loot from Shieldtown, most likely.

The thought of it stiffened his spine and he stalked into the room.

The soft rumble of conversation died away, and then all eyes were on him. “Mr. Stark,” Steve called. “You’re up and about early. I hope you slept well?”

“As well as can be expected,” Tony managed. “Am I intruding, or shall I line up along the wall with the rest of the tribute?”

Steve frowned, but before he could say anything, Natasha smoothly stepped between them. “Tony,” she said, tucking her arm through Tony’s and drawing him toward the table. “Let me introduce you to Bruce Banner. He’s an herbalist, primarily, but he’s dabbled in engineering. I’m sure he’ll be grateful for your expertise.” She indicated man of middle years with keen, bright eyes.

“Mr. Banner.” Tony offered his hand.

“Call me Bruce.” After Tony’s weeks of traveling with warriors, Bruce looked incongruously soft and unassuming, though his grip was firm. “It’ll be nice to have an actual engineer to work with,” he said. “I’ve got a puzzle for you to look at, actually, if you don’t mind--?”

“I’m at your disposal,” Tony said. If Bruce recognized the irony in that, he didn’t comment on it, just excused himself from the discussion and indicated the direction with a wave of his hand.

The workroom that Bruce led Tony to was dim and musty with the scent of dozens of plants drying in the rafters. “Sorry about the light,” Bruce said. “Too much can affect the strength of the medicine.” He brought Tony to a table at the far end of the long room, which had some kind of contraption on it, half-disassembled. “One of my assistants found it in a storeroom. The notes with it indicate it’s supposed to be a more efficient oil press, but I couldn’t figure out how to make it work. I thought if I took it apart, that might help me understand, but now...” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I can’t quite get it back together again.”

Tony dragged over a stool to consider the pieces. Those bits there were clearly the press itself. And that spout probably was for pouring off the rendered oil. Torque would be necessary, of course, and that would come from... Ah! This assembly. Okay, but how would they connect? Tony considered the remaining pieces. There were tools on the table; he reached for a pair of pliers without even thinking about it.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when a plate appeared at his elbow -- bread and cheese and some sort of fruit he didn’t recognize. He glanced up, startled, and Bruce smiled and handed him a cup. “Midday,” Bruce said. “And I think you missed breakfast.”

Now that he was no longer absorbed in the device, Tony could feel his stomach rumbling. “Thanks.” He could feel Bruce’s eyes on him as he ate.

“So, Bucky seems to think--”

“I think I’ve almost got this thing figured out,” Tony interrupted. He didn’t want to talk about Bucky. He didn’t want to talk about Bucky’s opinion of him, or intentions toward him, or any of it. “But it looks like there’s a piece that’s missing. It’s a simple piece, just a hinge pin, but if it snapped, none of the rest of it will work.” He showed Bruce the mechanism in question. “I could make the piece easily, if there’s a forge around here I could use.”

Bruce eyed him for a moment, then nodded, accepting the change of subject. Tony didn’t _ quite _ sigh in relief, but he felt tension bleeding out of his neck and shoulders.

They didn’t talk much for the rest of the day, aside from the requirements of their tasks. Bruce promised to bring Tony to a smithy the next day to create the pin, and puttered around doing something pungent with dried herbs while Tony cleaned and tested the press as well as he could.

They went back into the big hall for dinner, and Tony sat with Bruce, his back to the high table. He let Bruce introduce him to friends, and tried to carry his corner of a conversation with them all, despite feeling Bucky’s eyes burning the back of his neck.

Though perhaps that was simply Tony’s overactive imagination, because when he stood to return to his room, Bucky was gone.

He hadn’t even tried to talk to Tony. Tony wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

His mixed feelings lasted just long enough for him to turn onto the hallway that led to his room: Bucky was waiting for him, sitting cross-legged on the floor across from Tony’s door.

Tony paused, debating inwardly whether he should continue on or turn around.

Before he could make up his mind, Bucky said, “Tony. I’m sorry.”

That... wasn’t what Tony had expected to hear. “What?”

“Too far, too fast,” Bucky said ruefully. He remained seated on the floor as Tony slowly approached. “You weren’t ready, and I didn’t realize, and now you’re mad at me. I’m sorry, I truly am. You deserve more respect from your suitors.”

“From my _ what? _ ” Tony stopped just out of reach, his brain whirling and his heart beating a rapid tattoo against his ribcage. “My-- Are you _ courting _ me?”

“Of course,” Bucky said easily, as if Tony had asked whether Bucky thought the sun would rise in the morning. “Have been for _ days _ . You’re so brave and smart and beautiful. Did you... Did you not _ know? _ ” Bucky’s eyes stretched wide in dismay. “How could you not-- No _ wonder _ you’re mad!”

Tony shook his head, half-numb. “You can’t court me,” he said weakly.

Bucky looked crestfallen. “I screwed it up that bad, huh? Okay.” He took a deep breath, huffed it out hard. “Okay. You don’t want me courtin’ you, I guess I--”

“It’s not about what I _ want _ ,” Tony said, and his voice sounded somewhat shrill and panicked even to his own ears. “You _ can’t _ court me!”

Bucky frowned up at him in confusion. “I... can’t?”

“No!” Tony waved his hands around in frustration.

“Oh hells, Tony, are you already married?”

“What? No!”

“Then I don’t... Why not? Help me out, here. I don’t understand.”

“Gods save me,” Tony muttered. “You can’t court me because I’m your _ prisoner _ . I don’t care what you _ call _ it,” he snapped as Bucky opened his mouth to argue. “And I know I volunteered. That doesn’t change the fact that you counted me as _ property _ , as _ tribute _. It doesn’t change the fact that you took me away from my home, or that I’ll never be able to go back!”

Bucky closed his mouth, opened it again, stopped. The furrow in his brow got even deeper. “Those people didn’t respect you at all,” he said, his tone wounded and indignant. “They didn’t value you! They were ready to sacrifice you to me, long before my crew took their inventory!”

Pain twisted behind Tony’s breastbone. “That doesn’t matter,” he said. “It was the only home I’d ever known.”

“You were never meant to be a prisoner in truth,” Bucky said softly. “I thought you understood. It was only to save face.”

“And how much face would be saved if I returned?” Tony retorted. “Going back was never an option.”

“I... I didn’t...” Bucky scrubbed a hand over his hair, and rubbed at his scarred shoulder. “You’re right.” He looked at Tony and his eyes were piercing and hot and desperate. “You’re _ right _.” He scrambled to his feet and caught Tony’s hand between both of his. “I’m even more sorry, now. I’m... I release you.”

Tony blinked, too confused even to pull his hand back from Bucky’s. “What?”

“I release you. I’ll find someone to take you back. Tomorrow. First thing.”

“I. I don’t... Why?”

“Because I hurt you,” Bucky said seriously. “And I didn’t mean to. So I have to make it right.” He dropped Tony’s hand. “I won’t... I won’t impose on you any more. Your escort will find you at breakfast.” He turned away, and his shoulders were bowed, his head hanging heavy as he walked away. He got as far as the corner, then paused. “Tony?”

“Yes?” Tony had to put a hand on the stone wall, he felt so dizzy and confused.

“I’ll... If you ever wanted to come back. You’d be welcome here. You’d have a home here. With or without me.”

Tony didn’t know how to respond to that, but then Bucky lurched into motion again, turning the corner, and he didn’t have to say anything.


	6. Going Home

Bucky was as good as his word. Tony didn’t see him again.

He made his way uncertainly to the great hall the next morning, and not only was Bucky not present, neither were any of Bucky’s lieutenants, or Steve.

Instead, a pair of tall, rough-looking warriors strode up to him. “Stark,” one of them said. “He says you’re going back.”

Tony lifted his chin. “Yes.”

The man nodded. “I’m Brock; this is Jack. We’ll be taking you back down. We’ll leave within the hour. Want to get back over the pass before it snows. Get your stuff together.”

“I don’t... have any stuff,” Tony admitted.

Jack grinned. “Travel light, travel fast,” he said, with the air of quoting someone. We’ll hunt on the road.” He clapped Tony on the arm, a little harder than strictly necessary. “We’ll meet you back here in half an hour.”

Tony ate breakfast, largely ignored by the other early risers. He wondered if he should go and find Bruce, try to explain -- but before he’d made up his mind, his escorts had returned. Somehow, before he knew it, he was wrapped in a cloak and carrying a heavy pack and trudging back up the steep path into the mountain pass. No horses -- they were making the whole journey afoot. It would mean slower travel, but they’d have much more flexibility about the paths they took, which Jack assured him would shave some time off the trip.

He paused at the bottom of the pass to look back at the town.

He’d been there for two days. As a _prisoner_. Leaving shouldn’t fill him with such an ache.

“Get a move on,” Brock said gruffly. “If it snows before we’re back over the mountains, then we’re not going anywhere until spring. And that’s assuming we survive it.”

Right. “I’m coming,” Tony said, turning back to face the path and follow his guides.

He couldn’t resist one last glance back, though, before the view was entirely hidden from view. He couldn’t help but think that if he’d met Bucky under different circumstances, he might have welcomed that kiss.

He shook his head and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. That wasn’t for him, and he would be better off forgetting it.

Trekking back out was far less pleasant than the trek in had been, even allowing for Tony’s uncertainty and fear. Not having horses meant the three of them had to carry all their gear on their own backs. Tony got a somewhat heavier load than the two warriors, who needed to be ready to defend their little party at any moment from Hydra monsters.

Their slow travel meant more of _those_, as well. It seemed barely two nights went by without some sort of creature intruding on their camp. They were plagued for several days running by a group of owl-like beasts whose feet looked like human hands instead of raptor’s talons. The owl-things weren’t particularly dangerous singly, but if angered, half a dozen would swoop on the camp at once, dropping sharp rocks and snatching at their clothes and packs.

And even aside from the monsters, the company left something to be desired. Bucky had been taciturn but never unkind, and his lieutenants had done their best to help Tony, whether from their own innate kindness or to curry favor with Bucky. Brock and Jack were the sort of rough and scornful warriors that Tony had at first feared and expected Bucky to be, scoffing at his inability to keep up with their long-legged strides and disdainful of his softness.

They were sleeping in shifts so that someone was always awake to guard their camp, but the incursions of the owl-things had made Tony jumpy enough to awaken at every little sound -- a pop or rustle from the banked fire, Jack’s snoring (which usually earned him a kick in the leg from Brock), and one particularly horrible night when they’d camped near a small farm, the persistent curiosity of the small flock of sheep.

So when he snapped awake yet again, he froze for a moment, listening hard, trying to identify the sound that had woken him.

Jack had stood up from his post by the fire and was walking a perimeter.

Everything was all right, then. No alarm raised, and no invasion. Tony let out his breath and started to relax back into sleep.

“Hsst, Brock.” The harsh whisper jolted Tony back out of his drowse. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed -- had he slept again? He must have, if it was already time for watch-change.

Brock didn’t seem to have any trouble at all waking up. “Keep your voice down, idiot,” he rumbled.

“Relax, he’s asleep,” Jack said. “I checked. Listen, we’re coming up on the inland road.”

“Not this again,” Brock huffed. “It’s too dangerous for us to split up.”

“Not if you give me the safe conduct,” Jack said.

“Are you insane?” Brock snapped.

“Look, the inland road means we’re nearly to the border. After that, it’ll be a breeze. You can take Mr. High-and-Mighty back to his miserable little town, and by the time you get back to the border, I can be waiting there for you with fresh orders.”

Tony frowned into his bedroll. Who would they be getting orders from? And why?

“It’s too risky,” Brock insisted. “We’ll do this the way we planned. Dump off our cargo, then detour to see Pierce on our way back.”

Who the hell was Pierce?

“They’re not stupid,” Jack persisted. “They know how long the trip should take. A detour will be suspicious.”

“There’s a thousand things that can go wrong to delay a trip.”

“We could just kill him,” Jack said. “Dump his body in a ravine. No one would ever know.”

All of Tony’s hair stood on end. He’d known they didn’t like him much, but...

“Gods, you’re a bloodthirsty bastard,” Brock snorted. “How did you ever wind up on infiltration?”

“I’ve just got one of those faces, I guess.”

“Shut up before you wake him up. Stick to the plan.”

Tony listened as, grumbling, Jack settled into his bedroll.

Tony laid awake, listening while Brock settled into his watch and trying to make sense of the things he’d heard.

The inland road led deeper into Hydra territory. There would be fewer monsters there, but there was nothing there that they could want, was there? What did it mean, that Jack was _on infiltration_?

Tony had a sinking feeling that he knew.

It wasn’t his problem. As Jack had pointed out, they were only a few days from the border. Tony could just... go home. Go back to his forge and his workshop. Forget the Avengers and their feud with Hydra.

After all, what was it to him if the notorious Winter Soldier was taken down a peg or two -- or even defeated? It would only make Shieldtown safer, really.

At least, until Hydra turned their eyes southward again.

Bucky -- not the Winter Soldier -- had treated Tony kindly. Had never intended for Tony to be a prisoner, despite the realities of the situation.

Deserved, if he were going to be defeated by Hydra, to do so in battle, weapon in his hand -- not an ignoble death from a backstabbing traitor.

Tony had to get a warning to the Avengers. But how? Brock and Jack might not be the only ones.

He kept his eyes closed and his breathing shallow, not wanting to alert Brock, but he knew he couldn’t sleep again. He turned the problem over and over in his mind. He knew what he had to do. The question was: _how?_

Before he could figure it out, it was morning, and Brock was shaking him “awake.”

Tony dawdled as much as he dared, packing up, but all too soon they were on the road again, every step carrying Tony in what he now knew was the _wrong direction_.

At least it gave him more time to plan. Neither of his escorts talked to him much, so they didn’t notice how inwardly-focused he was.

When the sun slanted low and they began to look for a good spot to camp, Tony offered diffidently to take the first watch.

“You?” Jack scoffed. “What are _you_ going to do if something comes out of the woods?”

“Yell for you, I expect,” Tony said, though the warrior’s scorn left him seething. He wasn’t _useless_, after all, just because he wasn’t as skilled a fighter. “We must be close to the border by now, aren’t we? There will be fewer things to watch for. And I’m sure the both of you could use the extra sleep.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Brock said before Jack could mock him some more. He opened his pack and dug out a long knife, which he tossed to Tony. “Maybe that’ll keep you alive long enough to shout for us, if something comes.”

It was a better response than Tony had even hoped. He helped set up the camp, and listened to their advice on the best ways to keep a watch. Condescending and arrogant as they were, Tony expected he’d need every scrap of knowledge that he could get, if he was going to make his way back to the mountain pass, alone and -- quite possibly -- pursued.

He waited until they’d gone to sleep, and then waited another hour beyond that, tracking the sliver of a moon’s path across the sky. Finally, testing, he cracked several branches to put in the fire, but neither of his escorts so much as opened an eye.

He tucked the knife into his belt and slung one of the waterskins across his back. He’d have to travel light and fast, and didn’t dare take more than that.

If he were lucky, Brock and Jack would sleep straight through the night, giving him a long head start. Maybe they’d think he spotted a will-o-wisp and followed it to his doom, and not give chase at all.

Maybe a bearkin would stumble over the camp and kill them both.

He couldn’t count on _any_ of those things happening, though, so he moved as quickly as he dared, creeping away from the camp and then walking swiftly back along the path they’d come down only hours earlier. He could barely see it in the dark, but he didn’t let that slow him.

He would return to the Avengers and warn them of the treachery in their midst.

Or die trying.

***

The guard posted at the gate of the Avengers’ walls was one he knew. It wasn’t the first piece of good luck Tony’d had lately, but it was appreciated, all the same.

The man -- Scott, Tony thought his name was -- didn’t recognize him at first. Small wonder. Weeks of skirting the Hydra border, hiding from people and monsters alike -- not to mention more prosaic wildlife -- had left him with facial hair that was not merely overgrown but bushy and wild. It probably had leaves and twigs caught in it. Mud and blood, too, while he was doing an inventory.

His clothes were stained and ripped -- some by accident, some in the midst of battle, and some deliberately, as he’d needed strips of cloth or leather to create the crude weapon that he’d invented the second night out, something like the bastard child of a slingshot and a bow. It didn’t have much of a range, but its aim was fairly true, and it put enough force behind the rocks it threw that Tony had managed to dissuade a bearkin from climbing the tree he was hiding in, and he’d actually killed one of those owl-things. He’d been leery of trying to eat such an unnatural creature, especially since he couldn’t risk a fire, but he’d pulled all its feathers. The down, stuffed into his shoes, helped keep his feet warm in the early-winter snow, and he’d discovered that visibly wearing the pinion feathers would ward off other owl-things.

He held up empty hands and looked down Scott’s crossbow barrel into the warrior’s eyes. “It’s me, Scott. It’s Tony. From Shieldtown.”

Scott stared a moment longer, then dropped his weapon. “Tony? I thought you were on your way back.”

“I was,” Tony said. “But I...” He couldn’t trust _any_ of them, could he? “Something happened. I need... I need to see Bucky. Right away.”

“Oh, uh.” Scott shuffled his feet a little and gave Tony a somewhat sheepish grin. “That won’t be a problem.”

“What does that--” From behind Scott came a terrifying, blood-curdling yowl, and Tony grabbed for his weapon before he fully registered what he was seeing -- Bucky and three of his lieutenants in full war regalia, charging toward the gate, weapons drawn.

“You raised the alarm,” Tony guessed.

“Yeah,” Scott agreed. He turned to face the charging warriors, waving his arms. “Stop, stop! False alarm!”

They slowed but did not stop, weapons still held defensively. Clint appeared on the roof of a nearby building, bow held at full draw.

Bucky stopped so suddenly that Natasha and Sam, just behind him, nearly tripped over him. “Tony?” His eyes were huge, the tentative quaver of his voice entirely at odds with his fierce presentation.

Tony spread his hands. “It’s me. Bucky, I have to talk to you.”

“Tony.” Bucky sprinted forward again and threw his arms around Tony, nearly knocking them both over with the force of his impact. “Gods, I thought I’d never see you again!”

Tony swallowed past the lump in his own throat, overwhelmed somehow by the green medicinal scent that clung to Bucky’s skin. “I’m sorry,” he managed. He tucked his face into Bucky’s shoulder and realized belatedly that he was clinging to Bucky’s wolf pelt with both hands, like a frightened child clinging to its mother’s skirts. “Bucky, I’m sorry,” he said again. “But you’re in terrible danger. I have to talk to you. Right now. Alone.”

Relief at having finally made it to his goal washed through him, a cool breeze that snuffed out the fires of Tony’s determination and severed the last thread of iron will that had been holding him upright. Everything turned blurry, and then darkness swam over him.

***

Tony woke in a nest of furs and blankets, next to a hearth that held a crackling fire. A pot hung over the fire, smelling of meat and herbs. He tried to sit up, but the muscles in his arms trembled so much they wouldn’t support him. He turned his head to look around.

The walls were stone, carefully fitted and plastered; the floor was covered with furs. Aside from Tony’s little nest, there were several thick cushions and a low table, tools and containers. A weapons rack stood against one wall. A thick hide covered what appeared to be a doorway, and a bigger, thinner curtain stretched between two walls, partitioning off a space -- possibly a private area of some sort. A bedroom, maybe.

Even as he thought it, the curtain was pushed to one side and Bucky emerged. He’d taken off his wolf-fur, but hadn’t put on a shirt. Tony could remember, quite clearly, thinking that necklace of claws against his chest looked barbaric and frightening. When had it come to mean _safety?_

“Ah, you’re awake,” Bucky said. He crossed the small space in three quick strides and crouched next to Tony. “Can you sit up?”

Tony made another attempt, and Bucky reached out to help, gently lifting Tony and balancing him upright. “What happened? You look-- Are those grasper-ghost feathers?” He brushed a fingertip down the shaft of one of the pinions dangling from Tony’s collar.

Tony didn’t quite shiver at the almost-caress, but something deep in his gut wanted to. “Is that what they’re called? We never saw any on our way here, that first time.”

“They’re cold-weather creatures, and they avoid large groups of people anyway.” Bucky reached past Tony to pick up a worked-stone cup, thin as fine porcelain, and offered it to Tony. “Here. Water.”

Tony sipped, and then, realizing how thirsty he was, drank the rest of it down in gulps.

“Easy,” Bucky cautioned, but didn’t try to take the cup away or make Tony slow down. He just waited, taking the cup back when Tony had emptied it.

“This is... your house?” Bucky nodded. “How long was I out?”

“Not long. A couple of hours.”

Long enough to be too long, if there were more Hydra here. If they heard Tony had returned without his escort...

Bucky seemed to sense Tony’s mounting distress. “What happened?”

Tony ran one hand idly over the fur on the floor, coarse and thick, rather than soft. “Brock and Jack were Hydra spies.”

Bucky was already shaking his head in denial. Tony leaned forward, determined. “They _were_. I don’t know how they avoided Wanda’s sight, but I _heard_ them...” The whole story poured out. To his credit, Bucky didn’t interrupt. He frowned as he listened, staring into the fire on the hearth. It was horrible, watching the anger and grief and fear flickering across his face.

“There’s no way to know who you can trust,” Tony finished, spreading his hands helplessly. “I had to warn you, but I... I don’t know how you root out the traitors and spies.”

“If Steve is Hydra, I’d rather he go on and kill me,” Bucky said with a wry smile. He sobered immediately. He took Tony’s hands in both his own, pressing them gently. “Thank you,” he said solemnly. “I owe you -- _we_ owe you -- a great deal. More than I can say. More than I can ever repay, I expect. Will you... We’ll have to move quickly on this. Immediately. I’m sorry. I’ll find you somewhere safe, and once we’ve cleaned house, I’ll... I’ll escort you back home, myself.”

Tony pulled back, frowning. “I should help you.”

“What?”

“The number of people you can trust right now,” Tony said firmly, “can be counted on one hand. You can’t afford to stash me somewhere _safe_ to hope you survive it all. You _need_ me.”

“More than you know,” Bucky agreed immediately. “But you’ve already done so much. And this isn’t your fight. You don’t...” He looked away, pained. “You have no reason to care about the outcome.”

“I _came back_,” Tony said, incredulous and more than a little annoyed. “All the way back! I fought monsters and invented a new weapon and half-starved and nearly _froze!_ To warn you! Don’t you _dare_ tell me I don’t _care!_”

Bucky stared at him. “You... really?”

Tony huffed in exasperation, then lunged across the space between them to kiss Bucky. For a shocked moment, Bucky didn’t move, but when Tony’s hands curled around his neck, Bucky let out a soft, desperate groan and pulled Tony to him, practically into his lap, and kissed Tony back.

This was no sweet, gentle courting kiss, tentative and hopeful. This kiss tasted of desperation, of frantic need. Bucky plundered Tony’s mouth, panting with yearning desire and half-sobbing with relief. “Tony, Tony, gods above and below,” he gasped, “I thought I’d lost you.”

Bucky’s skin was warm and each touch was sweeter than the last, and Tony thought he could fall into that strong embrace and never leave it again. But all too soon, Bucky drew back, only far enough to rest his forehead against Tony’s as they both tried to breathe.

“Hydra,” Bucky sighed, and Tony reluctantly nodded, pulling away.

“Right. That should... come first.”

Strong hands cupped Tony’s face and Bucky kissed him again, brief but fervent. “You are first in my heart,” Bucky said fiercely. “But for me to give you all that you deserve... I must first make my home safe for you.”

Tony tipped his head to kiss the palm of Bucky’s hand. “_We_,” he corrected. “We will make our home safe.”

Bucky’s smile was like the sun. “We.” He rose to his feet with the grace of a hunting cat, and offered a hand to Tony to help him up. “Let’s get started.”


End file.
